


Need

by bgrrl



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Stefan is not a good boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgrrl/pseuds/bgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan revels in his pain, it's his redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tvd_holidays gift exchange.  
> Thank you to my beta's 7thgesha and gradgrrla.  
> Flashbacks in italics

Stefan knows that he has always been the architect of his own pain. At times, he has even enjoyed it, wallowing in the foundation of guilt, laying his crimes brick by brick. He revels in his pain, his guilt, his melancholy; there is only one thing he loves more. That's how he ended up here in this warehouse in Chicago with Klaus. Then Klaus lets him remember. The memories are like a punch to the gut, taking his breath away.

“We were friends,” he says, his voice slow, stunned by the realization.

“We are friends,” Klaus replies, laying a hand on his chest. It’s warm, proprietary weight sends a wave of fresh memories crashing into his mind. He wants to say, “I remember the things we did, I remember the way you touched me. I remember the way you tasted.” Stefan doesn't say any of that, he just follows Klaus and Rebekah back to Klaus' place in Chicago. It's familiar now and he heads to his room without a word. Stefan can feel Klaus' eyes on his back. He doesn't want to enjoy that feeling. Alone in his room, he strips off his bloodied shirt- they stopped for dinner on the way home. She was a pretty little thing, dark hair and green eyes that seemed familiar somehow. Suddenly, the image of a blonde haired girl with the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, staring at him dead, flashes before his eyes.

In the shower, he tries to wash away the blood, the taste of her, but all he can think about is the kill, how good it feels to drink the blood as it runs from the wound, lush and heavy with life. His mouth is watering at the thought of it. He tries to make himself believe that death isn't the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

_There is a girl named Anne and she smells like smoke and carnations. She's got a friend named Opal and after a few rounds of gin, no compulsion is needed. Anne is sitting on his lap, lipstick smeared, whispering sweet things in his ear. He's ripped one of her stockings. Stefan is watching Klaus and Opal fuck. He turns Anne around so she can watch, unzipping her dress, pressing his lips to her fragile spine. Stefan can smell the metallic taint of iron just before he sees Opal’s blood spill dark red on the white bed sheets._

_He feels Anne's body go rigid with fear. He lets her run, lets her get her hand on the door knob, lets her turn it, lets her open the door. So close to escape-she probably thinks before he throws her back against the wall. Stefan presses a finger to her lips._   
_“Shh, now, no screaming.”_   
_He compels her silence, but nothing else. He can hear her heart hammering in her chest, feel her tremble when he touches her, taste her tears when he kisses her lips. He pulls back and lets her see his eyes. He can feel how badly she wants to scream. Stefan puts a hand on her throat, feeling the muscles in her delicate neck flexing, but no sound is going to come out. Her fear is filling up the room and he breathes it in._   
_He strokes her neck, “I know you want to scream, you want to so badly, but you just . . . can't. Believe me, Anne I'd prefer it if you did, but we can't wake the neighbors.”_   
_When he embraces her he can hear her teeth rattling with terror. He places kisses along her neck, feeling the blood rushing through her veins. Then he scrapes his fangs against her skin and sinks into her slowly, so slowly. Anne is warm and wet against his lips, her blood tainted with gin and fear. It's so sweet and she's thrashing against him, nails scraping uselessly against his flesh. As she tries to push him away, he just pulls her closer and allows himself to sink deeper._

He leans against the slick porcelain tile and lets the steaming hot water run down over his neck and chest. He's hard as he watches the blood swirling down the drain.

_“It's never enough for you, is it? Never enough pain, never enough blood. You still want more?” Klaus' voice is low and blood drunk._

_“I need it,” answers Stefan._

He sounds  breathless in his memory, desperate, needy and all the things he pretends never to be. He can’t resist. He wraps his hand around his cock and gives in, closes his eyes and lets the memories rush in.

_Anne is empty and he lets her fall. He walks across the room, and pushes Opal out of the bed. He hears the thud when her body hits the floor. Klaus climbs on top of him, straddles his hips. They’re both still hard._

_“Do you want it?” Stefan nods, wonders if there will ever be a time when he won't need it. Klaus' fingers are digging into his chest-sharp, stinging-the skin breaking and the blood he’s just drank running out of him down his chest. He can feel Klaus’ tongue licking through the blood, smearing it, then the prick of fangs against his neck, pushing, tearing through his veins. The pain is hot, searing, and he deserves it for what he’s done, and needs it so he can do it again._

_Klaus reaches for the silver blade he keeps near the bed. Stefan feels the familiar tremor of anticipation. The knife is cold, sharp against his skin, just enough pressure to make him bleed and moan and beg for more. Klaus gives it to him, pushing the knife in deeply, scraping his spine, edging closer to his heart. Then he feels fingers pushing in beside the blade. He watches as Klaus brings those fingers to his lips, tasting. “She was a sweet thing, wasn't she?” He leans down and bites at Stefan's lip whispering “but not as sweet as you.” Klaus twists the knife and Stefan jerks up. The knife slides in deeper and his tears are wet on his cheeks. It feels like blood is spilling from him everywhere, trying to escape his cursed flesh. “More,” Klaus says and it's not a question, as he drags the knife through muscle, sinew and nerve. Stefan’s whole body is shaking with the effort of holding back his screams. He's dimly aware of the cracking of wood beneath his fingers, but he can't take his eyes off of the knife. Klaus is pulling it from his body, excruciatingly slow. Then Klaus licks the blade clean, and then drags it across his own skin, pressing Stefan’s lips to the gaping wound. The blood tastes raw, like iron. It's centuries of rage and lust, that he can feel. It's distilled death. It makes him feel alive._

In the shower he comes, whispering Klaus' name.

He lies in bed awake thinking about Klaus, and the blade, and the pain. He remembers how human it made him feel. Stefan doesn’t think anyone can ever understand. When he hurts he feels human, he feels real. The only thing that gets him there is the guilt that comes after a kill. You have to sin to be forgiven. The pain, and the guilt are his redemption. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. He tosses and turns for hours, before he gives up and gives in to what he needs. Klaus doesn’t seem at all surprised when Stefan appears in the doorway of his bedroom. He simply asks, “do you need it?” Stefan doesn’t say a word just steps inside and locks the door. Klaus has added to his collection of blades over the years. The first is thin, sharp and Klaus teases him with it scraping it over his skin, enough to make him beg. Finally Klaus twists the knife between his ribs careful not to nick his heart. This is what he needs, this is what’s been missing, the virtue that he can only find on the edge of a knife. The next one has a flat wide blade and Klaus plunges it mercilessly deep into his chest, again and again. He leans down and licks the blood before kissing Stefan and reaching for a razor. Stefan loses count of the ways Klaus makes him hurt, cry, and moan. He’s a torn bloody mess, by the time Klaus is through. He falls asleep content. By morning he’s healed and can feel the need starting again.

Back in Mystic Falls, Stefan's good life is suffocating him. It was easier before when all of his sins were just specks in the rear-view mirror, but now they're peeping over his shoulder. All he can think about is death and blood and pain, how the suffering makes him feel alive, human. Finally, it's more than he can take so he drives up to Charlottesville and buys a place, a secluded little house with a mountain view. Right away, he spots Nicole. She’s petite with caramel skin and big brown eyes. Struggling to carry too many books, she drops her car keys. Stefan startles her when he picks them up, then helps her with her books. She thanks him, but sounds just the tiniest bit suspicious. Nicole will take work. After weeks of running into her on campus and around town, she gets comfortable. He tempts her with the promise of Heavenly Palace, the best vegan Chinese in Virginia, and help with her history paper. She takes him up on the offer, letting him drive her out to his place. Nicole likes him, likes the way he makes her feel special. He thinks about letting her go, but he hears her heart speed up when his hand brushes her arm, and he can't resist. She's so perfect beneath him, the way she moans his name, the way she screams when his fangs tear into her flesh. He'd forgotten how much a person could scream. The sound plays in his head for days, and once while thinking about it, he slides his ring off just for a second and allows himself to burn.

It's a month before he returns to Charlottesville. For a week, he watches her, tall, blonde, and bubbly, he’s familiar with the type. Her name is Jessica. He writes it in his diary. He approaches her outside of the coffee shop. She's waiting, staring at her watch, but Stefan knows her date is never going to show up. He waits until she turns to leave-hurt, vulnerable, so easy. He lays on the good boy charm, says all the right things. She feigns disinterest, but he can see her pupils dilate the tiniest bit as she takes him in. Two cups of shitty, over-priced coffee, an hour of conversation and he's walking her home. She giggles when he asks for an invitation. “Such a gentleman,” she says. If only she knew, he's already imagining her in pieces. Jessica smells like strawberries, her lips are sticky sweet. He savors her tears, and hates himself for loving the taste of her desperate despair. When he finally tears her throat and drinks her, she's bittersweet, like the skin of an unripe plum. Afterwards, he tucks her in under her blood stained blankets and strokes her hair. He can feel the guilt creeping up his spine and he sighs satisfied, for now.

He tries not to go back, tries to live the life he says he wants. Two weeks later he drives up to the agency intending to talk to someone about selling the house, but he sees the fall of long, dark hair against pale skin, and he knows he has to have her. She’s talking on her cell phone, not paying attention to anyone at all. He listens in. Sounds like her little sister is in trouble, again. He doesn't wait, just compels her and takes her home. Stefan spends hours with her, she’s perfect this one. She is warm and fragile, so beautifully human so determined to live. He wants to drown in her terror, she tastes like heaven. Her taste is divine. Her name is Sara. By the time he's done, her sticky, candy sweet, blood is everywhere. Stefan doesn't think he can put her back together again; the guilt is hot and bitter in the back of his throat. He digs into his own flesh, but it's still not enough. He drives back to Mystic Falls, but he doesn't go home. He goes to Klaus.

“I can smell her on you. Terrified wasn't she?” Klaus says getting up from his desk, crossing the room. He leans in close inhales. “Oh I bet she screamed, until her last breath.”

Stefan doesn't meet his eyes. He can feel the bones in his wrist cracking as Klaus' draws him closer.

“Do you want it?” He whispers in Stefan's ear.

“I need it.” Stefan says, feeling the blade pressing against his skin.


End file.
